


Shattered glass.

by em1985



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Dealing, F/F, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Suicide, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:20:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22251712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em1985/pseuds/em1985
Summary: Harry Potter sacrificed himself in order to save the world from Voldemort. When he woke up, he was in a Muggle hospital, trapped in a world where everyone told him that Hogwarts wasn't real. He had two choices; either find a way to get back home or accept his new reality.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a weird idea I came up with after reading the fan conspiracy about Hogwarts being something Harry made up in his mind due to trauma. I had been feeling rather uninspired so I decided to give it a go. Please let me know what you think!
> 
> I do not own the series written by J.K. Rowling or her characters.
> 
> Tags/ratings/pairings are a work in progress.

_Voldemort had raised his wand. His head was still tilted to one side, like a curious child, wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry looked back into the red eyes, and wanted it to happen now, quickly, while he could still stand, before he lost control, before he betrayed fear. He saw the mouth move and a flash of green light, and everything was gone._

With a deep, elongated breath of air, Harry Potter could feel life spring back into him. _How? He had killed me._ He thought, not daring to open his eyes. What lies behind the darkness of his eyelids? He was slow to find the desire to find out.

 _Voices._ They whispered around them, hushed and uneasy. He realized then that he no longer smelled the damp moss of the forest. It reeked instead of a staleness that was only familiar in a distant sense. There was a shudder in his breath. The last time he smelled it he was in a Muggle hospital.

H _e had rehearsed the story a thousand times before Uncle Vernon would allow them to leave. I was clumsy and fell down the stairs. I broke my arm and got all bruised up. He inwardly rehearsed._

_“Bruises like a peach, this one!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed loudly in the waiting room._

_“Like a pouf, more like.” Dudley had chimed in._

_“I am not a pouf!” Harry snarled._

_“Shut. Up.” His uncle’s face had turned a deep shade of purple._

_Harry shrank into himself so that he would appear small before them. He wished he was invisible. He imagined himself with a cloak that would cause him to become unseen. It was silly, of course. It was like the time he pretended that he somehow made the glass invisible and a let loose a snake. He was the only one who could talk to it. His family was furious, of course, especially when he was caught hissing at it as it laid there like a lump behind the glass._

_“Freak!” People around him stated._

_Harry started laughing, willing his trick to be real. His time spent locked in the cupboard and the black and blue he couldn’t see in the bleak darkness was worth it._

Harry, who was much older now, wondered why he was reminded of his awful Muggle life. _Why aren’t I dead?_ He wondered to himself. He remembered the green light and the darkness consumed him whole.

“Harry. Harry?” The voice was familiar, yet almost forgotten by this point. 

He opened his eyes and he saw a young man with blond hair, a rounded face, and teary blue eyes. He was pale and was had a stocky build. Pity replaced any remnants of cruelty in his gaze. 

“Dudley?” He croaked out as though his voice hadn’t been used in ages.

He reached for his glasses beside him and pulled them on.

“You’re awake.” He said as though he was relieved.

“That’s usually what happens after one goes to sleep.” Harry spat and then swallowed thickly, recalling their last encounter. 

When he sent off the Dursley family during the war; Dudley had said that he wasn’t a waste of space. It was something but it was a far cry from redemption.

Worry etched on his cousin’s face. It seemed alien on his normally spiteful, spoiled face.

“Harry do you know where you are?” Dudley’s voice was soft, as though speaking to someone too thick in the head to comprehend basic concepts.

He glanced around the room. It was blindingly white with just a window and a toilet and bath. A Muggle telly hung by a rod and stared downward at him. The floors were yellow-tinted and shiny. He stared at his own arms that were covered in Muggle tubes. He had a strong urge to pull them out.

"I'm in a Muggle Hospital." _Who sent me to a Muggle hospital of all places?_

“Muggle.” Dudley had a deadpan expression as he spoke. “Not this again.” He said ruefully.

“What's the matter, Dudley? Scared of Wizards still?” Harry taunted despite himself.

There was a flash of his own anger but it quickly returned to pity.

“I’m going to get the nurse.” Dudley said with a sadness that infuriated Harry.

“Why? What am I doing here, anyway?”

He was met with no answer. He stared out the door in stunned silence.

“Hello. How are you doing, Harry?” 

He did a double take. 

“Madam Pomfrey, what are you doing in a Muggle hospital?” He spoke between gritted teeth. 

She gave him a horrible, sad smile.

“Harry, we’ve been through this. I am Poppy Pomfrey. I have seen you in here far too many times.” She spoke softly. “There is no such thing as witches and wizards. Muggles isn’t a term used outside of the world you created in your mind.” She said as though it was a mantra repeated many times.

“What? What are you on about? Has Voldemort put a spell on you?” He glanced about frantically for his wand to no avail.

“Harry...Voldemort is not real. He’s a manifestation of the abuse and neglect of your childhood.”

Harry shook his head violently. “He’s real! It’s all real! I can’t believe I’m going through this again. Ron? Hermione?” He called out frantically as he threw back the blanket over the gown that only went down to his knobby knees.

He barely was able to move again before he felt a sharp prick into his skin and darkness wrapped itself around him like a heavy, comforting blanket.

Voices filled Harry’s kind as he came to. 

“It’s happening again, I’m afraid. We thought we had gotten him out of the delusion but then...we made the mistake of allowing him to see his aunt and uncle. To make amends. It must have triggered it again.” 

_Professor McGonagall?_ Harry thought, bewildered.

“Just as I feared. We found him on the floor in his own vomit. He had gotten a hold of drugs somehow. We are conducting daily searches to find the culprit. It may have been Malfoy. He has always enabled the boy, after all.” Dumbledore chimed in. _Wait, no, it couldn't be. He's dead._ He reminded himself.

“I will question Mr. Malfoy at once.” McGonagall said primly. 

Footsteps stepped away and he was deafened by the sound of silence surrounding him; he was suffocating.

He fought to keep his eyes closed, trying to comprehend what he had just heard. _I don’t understand. What did they mean? Why was Malfoy drugging me? Was this an elaborate plan of Voldemort?_

He opened his eyes. He was in the same Muggle hospital room with the needles poking into his skin. _Why am I here? Am I actually dead? What is wrong with me?_

He tried to move but he was restrained. Memories of him thrashing in bed washed over him like a tidal wave and then dissipated again. 

He stared out the window, taking in the full moon and the stars. He imagined himself flying on his broomstick in a Quidditch match.

_What was Dudley doing here? Why did he look at me with such pity?_

Harry shut his eyes tightly. _If I fall asleep; I will..._

 _Groaning, Harry sat up in his bed. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and then glanced around. He was back at Hogwarts in his dormitory. Except he didn’t return to Hogwarts for his seventh year. It was the same as always, except it also wasn’t. Things were out of place and it wasn’t all covered with the familiar Gryffindor colours. There was green and silver on one of the beds. Then it all went out of focus and shattered_. 

He blinked rapidly, trying to pull the pieces back together. Everything was white. His bed, the sheets, the wall, the floor was a dull shade of white. There was one other bed in his room between two bed stands between them. They were white. Everything was bare minus a few items. He pulled his glasses on even though he didn't remember taking them off. Everything that had been blurry was now clear. It was like some sort of Muggle dorm room but it clearly smelled more like a hospital.

He glanced on his stand in search criteria of his wand but it was nowhere to be found. He hopped out of bed, moved to the door and turned the knob. It opened with a loud creek that caused him to wince. He peered down the darkened corridor. _Where am I?_

He closed the door behind him and crept down the abandoned corridor, his heart racing in his chest. Any moment he was sure he was going to get in trouble for being out of bed. _Except I’m not a Hogwarts student anymore. Not really._ He never intended on returning after the war. 

A light shone in his eyes and he lifted his hand to protect himself from it.

“Finally returned, did you Potter?” A familiar drawl filled the corridor. 

“What do you want now, Malfoy? Isn’t it enough that I saved your life from that fiendfyre?” Harry snapped.

There was a pause and a flicker of darkness that came over Malfoy before dissipating. “I never asked you to save, me, Potter. Crabbe—” he started laughing. “Oh, I can’t do it. I can’t.”

Harry glared at him, daggers shooting at him through the darkness.

“Oh, come off it, Potter. Hogwarts isn’t real and there wasn’t a war full of wizards and I’m not a bloody Death Eater, while we are at it. Drug dealer. I’m a drug dealer. Bloody hell, who did you get your last batch from? Was it Lockhart? You do realize he never remembers _anything_.”

Harry was trying to understand what Malfoy was on about but it was too strange. _Drug dealer? What about Lockhart?_ He was utterly lost.

He realized then that Malfoy had stopped speaking and stared at him. “You really did relapse, didn’t you?” He frowned. “Again.”

“Where’s Ron and Hermione?” He replied in a raspy tone.

“Don’t you remember? They were released ages ago. I heard they're getting married. I'm sure they hoped you would be there but it seems you won’t make it.” He said with regret in his tone.

Harry tried to process this but found he couldn’t. 

“Why are you here, then?” Harry asked instead, momentarily going along with whatever nightmare world he fell into.

A pause. “Never mind that, Potter. Let’s get you to bed. Tonight, I’ll give you a Valium for free.” 

Harry nodded, bewildered, and allowed Draco Malfoy to lead him to his bed. 

“Open wide.” Harry did as he was told and Malfoy tucked a pill under his tongue. Harry was shocked to discover how easily the pill was swallowed. 

He took the moment to study Malfoy up close. He appeared to be around eighteen. His cheeks were shallow and sunken in. Dark circles sunk beneath his eyes like bruises, and his hair was longer and messier than he had ever seen it. He wore white joggers and a matching shirt. Both seemed to swim on him. He couldn’t help but divert his attention to his arms, his gaze searching desperately for the Death Mark. His pale skin was bare other than bruised prick marks up and down his arms. He stared at his own arms and saw they matched. He stared at him, puzzled.

“I might have dipped into my own stash while you were gone.” Malfoy said flatly. “I was afraid it _was_ me.” He spoke softly into the night. "Just got back a week ago from the hospital. Pricked me up like you." He explained.

Harry furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand.” He admitted. It sounded far too Muggle to come from Malfoy’s lips.

“Uh right. Drugs are like potions but you can take them in pills like I gave you or in your arm with a needle. It makes you feel good but at a price. There is always a price. We both nearly paid it with our lives.” He said with a wry smile.

“Why do it then?” Harry said as a wave of euphoria gripped him and he felt like he was flying on his broomstick again. 

“This. What did you compare it to? Flying? You love Quidditch, right?” He said sadly.

Harry gaped at him, gobsmacked. No one else seemed to understand.

“Oh, shut your trap, Potter. You’ve told me so many times it makes me sick.” He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated way. 

“Why would I do that?” Harry muttered. _Aren’t we enemies?_

“I don’t know. We’ve known each other since we were eleven and while high you’ve told me all about Hogwarts? Which, by the way, I don’t appreciate how you make me a villain. Even if I did pick on you when we were younger. That was ages ago, though.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh. 

Draco simply shook his head. “You are an absolute loon, you know that?” 

Harry could only crack up. This whole thing was ridiculous. He swayed slightly as he felt like he was flying in his broomstick. _I am going far away. Far, far away!_

“Get some sleep you mad mad lad.” was the last thing he heard before he faded away.

_“Get up! Get Up!” Aunt Petunia was pounding on his cupboard again. He groaned and reached for his glasses in the darkness. He sighed as he flicked a few spiders away from his horrible school uniform that Aunt Petunia had dyed grey to match the uniform colours. They were ugly and far too big for him. He looked like he was wearing a bit of elephant skin. He was well into his first year and he hadn’t made a single friend. He did gain the nickname elephant boy. The only good thing about it was that Dudley and his mates were off to Smeltings, so they no longer bothered him. Of course, there were always bullies to replace him._

_He was hoping, though, to bring up moving into Dudley’s unused room of broken toys. He was outgrowing the cupboard, after all. He was eleven, after all, even if he was smaller than his other classmates._

_“Hurry up and make us breakfast before we are all late, boy.” Uncle Vernon spat at him._

_“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” He said quietly._

_He rehearsed his words again in his head as he cooked his Aunt and Uncle a traditional English breakfast._

_He served them both but knew better than to make himself a plate right off. He approached the able instead._

_“Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia? I was—wondering if maybe I can have Dudley’s second room since he isn’t using it?” He forced himself to keep his eyes open as Uncle Vernon stood abruptly from the table and approached him, stopping at relatively close proximity._

_“How dare you ask us for anything after all we’ve given you! We took you in when no one else would after your parents died and we’ve dealt with your funny business.” His cheeks were practically purple with anger. “Get out of my sight!” He bellowed._

_Harry grabbed his backpack and hurried out the door without breakfast—again._

Harry woke up feeling groggy from the 'drug' Malfoy gave him and the vivid dream that haunted him in his wake.

 _I was at Hogwarts before they were able to send me to the Muggle public school._ He recited to himself. It felt more real than the dream he just woke from.

“Welcome back, Harry.” said a familiar voice.

He glanced over at the other bed. In it sat Neville Longbottom. He was a broad-shouldered, stocky lad with rounded cheeks, just as he remembered him. He found himself smiling. 

“Alright there, Neville?” He asked.

“Same as always.” He replied pleasantly. “Did Malfoy visit?” He perked a brow at him.

“Yes, actually. Where were you? I didn’t see you.”

“Oh, that. Probably in the loo. Bit of a mishap with laxatives.” Neville explained.

“Oh.” He didn't know how he knew what a laxative was.

“I’m alright now. No more dehydration at least.” Neville shrugged his broad shoulders.

Harry desperately wanted to ask him what happened after he died but he didn’t. _They don’t think it was real._ He reminded himself.

“Hurry up and get ready for breakfast. You don’t want to miss it.” Neville said before he exited the room.

Harry stood to his feet and went through his wardrobe full of white joggers and shirts. Even his pants were white. “Are they obsessed with the colour white?” He murmured to himself.

After changing he headed down to breakfast. The cafeteria was full of people his age. _How old am I, then? Seventeen? Eighteen? How much time has passed since I died?_

He scanned the cafeteria to see where he should sit. He spotted Draco’s white-blond hair and pointed face and devoid of the company of Crabbe and Goyle. _That's rather odd._ He thought.

On either side of him sat Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini. Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass sat across from them. They were grouped together at one table in the far corner. Next to it was another table with Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Terry Boot, Lisa Turpin, and Padma Patil. At the third table, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, Zacharias Smith, Hannah Abbott, and Susan Bones sat together. Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Parvati Parvil sat at the fourth table. _They’re separated by house._ He thought to himself incredulously. _Yet not everyone is there. There are people missing from every table. Maybe they are the ones who died. Or the ones who weren't considered to be mad._

As he stared at the Gryffindor table, Hermione and Ron’s absence weighed heavily on him. He went through the lunch line to get Muggle food that appeared to be barely edible and sat down next to Seamus and Neville.

The entire table went silent for a moment, staring at him as though expecting an outburst. He glared at them, ready to remind them that they were supposedly here because they had lost the plot but decided to try the Muggle food instead. He scrunched his nose in disgust as he chewed it and swallowed. 

“This is awful!” He exclaimed loudly.

There was a pause and then Seamus let out a hearty laugh. “Of all the things to have forgotten about this place! Next time we’re writing in permanent marker that the food is a right holy show!” He joked. 

Everyone turned toward Harry as he turned crimson. He let out a snort, despite himself. “Bit of a nasty shock when he found out!” He found himself reciting what he remembered from his first feast at Hogwarts. Their laughter became nervous and forced. Harry sank into himself. _I have got to wake up._ _This place is a nightmare._


	2. Chapter 2

_“What’s this?” Malfoy snatched it out of Neville’s hand with a sneer. “A football? Your Gran think you were going to become an athlete all of a sudden, did she?” He and his two large goons laughed at Neville._

_“Sh-shut up!” Neville stammered out. “We-we are supposed t-to play with it.”_

_“Why don’t you c-c-cry about it, Longbottom?” Malfoy mocked as he tossed the football in the air and caught it._

_Harry stood, staring, his little fists balled up in repressed fury. They were eleven years old. He would have been in his first year of secondary school if it weren’t for his Aunt and Uncle sending him to this dreaded place. He glared at Malfoy with malice._

_"You think your fat ass could even play with this thing?” Malfoy jeered at Neville. “Come get it!”_

_Neville tumbled after him while Malfoy snickered. The sound was like a drill throbbing in Harry’s mind._

_Malfoy dropped the ball and kicked it toward Neville as he came at him. It went high and hit Neville hard on the head. He dropped with a thud as everyone stood around him, staring in stunned silence._

_A nurse ran out and approached Neville._

_“Neville? Neville? Can you hear me?” He didn’t respond._

_She pulled out her radio and called for the orderlies to help him to the hospital wing._

_“You lot stay here. I will be questioning each and every one of you. If you move all of your privileges will be taken faster than you can say freedom.”_

_After they carried him off, Malfoy let out a laugh. “What a klutz. Can’t even catch a ball.”_

_He went to pick it up, tossed it in the air and caught it again. “All he’s good at is falling on his fat arse!”_

_“Give it here, Malfoy.” Harry growled at him._

_“Harry...he’s not worth it!” Hermione exclaimed from behind him._

_Harry ignored her as he stepped closer to Malfoy, meeting him eye to eye._

_Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find. How about up a tree?"_

_Harry’s curled up fist stung in pain as it hit Malfoy’s nose. The next thing he knew he was being pulled off of the other lad by three large men. He fought them tooth and nail, the taste of blood settled in his mouth. He didn’t remember biting an orderly but the mark on his arm spoke volumes._

_Then smooth, liquid euphoria washed over him and he went limp with a smile plastered on his face._

“Mr. Potter.” A stern voice cut through and Harry sat up straight rather quickly. 

He blinked rapidly as things refocused. “Where am I?” Despite already recognizing it as Professor McGonagall’s office. Except it also wasn’t. There was not a single hint of magic present. He frowned.

“You are in my office, sitting here in silence.” She said with a hint of sadness he didn’t understand.

“I was dreaming.” He said to her.

“Oh? What about?” She leaned forward, listening intently.

“I was—but it wasn’t right. It was a strange version of the time Malfoy stole Neville’s Remembrall. He threw it and I caught it valiantly and instead of getting in trouble you offered me a spot on the Quidditch team.” Harry explained.

She let out a sigh. “Yes, I remember that tale. What was this strange version you were thinking of just now?”

Harry explained with hesitance, unsure what to make of it.

“Ah, yes. That, Mr. Potter, is what actually happened. Mr. Malfoy had to be in the hospital wing for weeks. We had you on 24/7 watch after you went completely catatonic. When you returned you had concocted this entire tale that made you the hero that was not punished but rewarded for your behavior.” She stated. “Quite extraordinary, the way our own guilt can play with us. He nearly died.” She studied him closely as she said the last part.

He paled considerably. “You-you’re lying. You’re lying! I would never—”

_Blood spurted from sixteen-year-old Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his home-made shank falling from his limp right hand._

_“No—” gasped Harry._

_Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest._

_“No—I didn’t—” Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood._

“I didn’t know what the spell did. It was a spell by the Half-Blood Prince.” He murmured.

“No, Harry.” She said softly. “You made a blade and cut him with it. You kept following him around thinking he was disappearing to the “Room of Requirement” to do dark deeds for “the Dark Lord”. You caught up with him in the bathroom. He was distraught and you terrified him. He knew you were following him so he had made his own weapon. Before he could defend himself, you lunged at him and cut him open.”

Harry shook his head violently. “No. No. Why would I do that?” His lip trembled.

“Harry, you suffer from catatonic Schizophrenia, Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and Post Traumatic Disorder from all of those years you were abused by your Aunt and Uncle. I have been your main doctor for many years.” McGonagall said softly.

Harry suddenly wondered how many times she’s told him this.

“Why...but Malfoy _was_ up to something. He was fixing the Vanishing Cabinet to let Death Eaters in.” Harry rationalized as he rocked back and forth in the uncomfortable chair.

“That is what you made up in your mind. In reality, Mr. Malfoy was a cruel bully that you wanted to teach a lesson to so you used an elaborate tale about him conspiring as an excuse to bring him great harm without feeling guilt.” McGonagall explained slowly. “You and Mr. Malfoy had a rather toxic, and complicated relationship.”

“Because he’s on the wrong side of the war.” Harry stated. 

McGonagall sighed. “Not a Wizarding war, no. He is at war with himself, same as you, but in differing ways.” 

“How so?” Harry asked incredulously. “I mean, I know he didn’t want to kill Dumbledore—” He stopped, unsure of himself now.

“No, he did not.” She said. “I am not at liberty to tell you about other patients.” He said in a regretful tone. “But rest assured; neither of you are heroes nor villains. You are both mentally ill and trying to deal with stress and trauma in a way your minds can cope with.”

Harry rubbed his temples, willing it all away again. 

He didn’t remember how he got to his room again. He glanced over at Neville, who was doing a puzzle on his bed quietly.

“How long have I been sitting here?” He asked him.

Neville glanced up. “Oh, not too long. You went into a daze again. Do you remember any of it? I do like your version of events better than reality.” He said with a serene smile.

Harry tried to remember but it was too muddled with what McGonagall had said.

“Did I really beat up Malfoy when he took your—what was it, a football?” Harry asked instead.

“Yes. I had already been taken to the hospital but according to Ron and Hermione, it was rather brutal.” His face fell at Harry’s horrified expression. “We were eleven and it hadn’t been that long since you got here. I think they were still trying to figure out what was wrong with you.” He said to him with a slight shrug of the shoulder.

“Right but...Neville...how did I get here?” Harry asked. 

Neville sent him a troubled look and gazed back at his puzzle. 

“I love puzzles. I enjoy putting things together. We always think we are missing something but it’s actually right in front of us.”

Harry grunted. “Well, thanks for nothing.” 

He got up from his bed and stalked into the corridor. He nearly collided with Malfoy in his rage.

“Woah. What’s got your knickers in a twist, Potter?” He jeered, though it wasn’t entirely unkind.

“What is the meaning of this? What was last night? Why did you help me after everything I’ve supposedly done to you?” He demanded.

Malfoy looked quite affronted by the questioning. “You are my customer. I don't have a reason to cause trouble.”

Harry crossed his arms across his chest expectantly.

“Oh, shut it, Potter. Do you want to make a deal or not?” Malfoy responded impatiently.

The thought of flying again was tempting but he shook himself out of it quickly. “No, Malfoy. I need answers and no one will give them to me!” His breath was quickening considerably. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Malfoy muttered. “Alright, let’s head to my room.” He led him by the arm a bit roughly.

Harry sat on the empty bed, glaring at Malfoy as he sat on the one on the opposing side.

“Look, Potter. I—” He paused for a moment before continuing. “We spent the first six years of being here tormenting each other in various ways. But—then you nearly killed me. It sent us both down a path of drug abuse. You went catatonic after I nearly killed Doctor Dumbledore…” He looked dazed for a moment. “You were just...gone.” He said. “When you came to, you spoke of a war and a secret mission from Dumbledore. You thought Doctor Snape killed him when I couldn’t because of some Unbreakable Vow.” He shook his head incredulously. “You said I was a Death Eater doing Voldemort’s bidding.”

Harry studied him closely, trying to figure out if he was lying or not. He couldn’t detect anything. He ran a hand through his unruly black hair and sighed.

“What are you doing here anyway, Malfoy?” He asked when the silence became like a blanket that was smothering him to death.

He faltered. “Never mind that, Potter. Do you want drugs or not?”

Harry sighed, too exhausted to press him any longer. He lay back on the bed, his hand outstretched. A tiny pill was enclosed in his hand. He frowned at Malfoy. 

“It’s slimy.” He complained.

“I have to sneak them out somehow. Would you prefer the back way?”

Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re sick.” He said and popped it in his mouth dry and swallowed.

Malfoy smirked at him as he pulled out his own pill and then shoved it back in, swallowing it whole.

“If I didn’t know any better, Malfoy, I’d say you planned on running into me.” 

“Scoot over.” Malfoy demanded. 

He laid next to Harry after he obliged. “Maybe I did.” He said softly. “You did save my life, you know. Crabbe created a fire he lost control of and you pulled me out. Crabbe killed Goyle in the process and ended up being sent away because of it. You stuck up for me and said I tried to stop it when they tried to pin it on me. Maybe you aren’t a wizard or the Chosen One like you go on about like an absolute git but you saved me despite everything we’d gone through.” He started to giggle.

“Wow. You _are_ high. Did you just say I’m your hero?”

“That is _not_ what I said, Potter!”

“I’m your hero! I’m actually your hero!” Harry exclaimed.

“You are not, you egotistical muppet!” Malfoy protested as he pulled the pillow from behind his head and smacked Harry with it.

“You’re going down!” Harry pulled his own pillow from behind his head and hit Malfoy back. 

They hit each other a few more times and then leaned back, both feeling like they’re flying high in the sky.

“Git.” Malfoy said.

“Prat.” Potter returned as the world shifted and drifted away.

_Harry came back home after spending six months at St. Mungo’s Mental Institute. His uncle had allowed him to have Dudley’s room. He was grateful to not have to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs anymore. He hurried up the steps and plopped down on his bed. It was freeing to finally have the room to himself._

_Heavy footsteps reached his doorway and he sat up, scowling._

_“What are you doing in here?” Dudley demanded, looking larger than ever._

_“This is my room now.” He informed him curtly._

_“Is not! I need this room!” Dudley hurried down the hall as fast as he could. “Dad! Make him leave!”_

_Harry rolled his eyes. “Fat lug.” He muttered under his breath._

_Luckily for him, for once his uncle couldn’t be swayed. Harry was quite certain he heard something about Child Services. He was quite sure that their “surprise visit” was his motivation for allowing him to stay in Dudley’s second room. He didn’t mind one bit._

_Time had passed without incident but the summer months were long without friends. Harry thought that at least Hermione and Ron would send them letters. Yet, he hadn’t received anything. He concocted the many reasons why they could not. He stared at the wall for hours, imagining all sorts of scenarios._

_One night, Uncle Vernon had guests over. When Harry had been banished to his room, he imagined a House-Elf had poofed himself and told him he couldn’t return to the magical school because he’d be in grave danger. Funny thing that it was, kept knocking its head against things so that it didn’t betray the secrets of its master._

_When Dobby explained that he was the reason he didn’t get any letters from his friends he saw red and the next thing he knew Uncle Vernon was pinning him to the bed in an attempt to restrain him._

_“Who broke my stuff? Who broke my stuff?” Harry yelled; his scrawny arms swung about madly._

_That was when he spotted Dobby in front of him, with this horrible smile, confessing his guilt with his gaze. Then, with a crack that he felt in his nose, he was gone. All Harry had left was Uncle Vernon’s purple face, bloody nose, and eventually the peaceful darkness he had become fond of._

_He didn’t end up at the hospital again until later that year when Uncle Vernon broke his arm after he had tried to run away in his blue Angelica car. Harry had insisted it was Dobby the House-elf trying to save him again._

Harry rubbed his face, groggy and disoriented. Malfoy was still out beside him. He still couldn’t fathom how this could have happened. Draco Malfoy, his sworn enemy, laid next to him peaceful and benign, high beyond all logical comprehension. He stared at the other lad’s face, smiling at the peacefulness in his expression. He thought about their earlier conversation, his mind reeling. 

_Could he be telling the truth? Are they all telling the truth and I have been lost in delusions of grandeur? How do I even know such a Muggle term?_

For the first time since he woke up in the hospital bed with Dudley at his side, he found himself questioning his own understanding of reality.

 _Maybe Hogwarts really doesn’t exist._ The notion brought tears to his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

“Who would like to share first?” Sprout said to the group of six. 

She had corrected Harry with a concerned look when he called her Professor. She said she was one of their group counselors.

Harry was quite sure that the squat woman with short, grey, wavy hair was one in the same. She was even wearing the same patched and battered hat. 

Harry stared at the blindingly shiny floor, hoping that she wouldn’t further call him out.

“Ah, I see. Ms. Bones, how about you? How are you feeling today?”

Harry glanced up briefly and watched the poor ginger-haired girl sit up in her seat primly and placed her hands on her lap. She opened her mouth but only a squeak came out. Harry remembered that her great aunt Amelia was a casualty of Voldemort in their sixth year. It shook her up quite a bit. Perhaps she never recovered.

“How about you, Mr. Finch-Fletchley?” 

“I’m fine.” He curtly stated. “After all, we have the savior of the world here, Harry Potter! Speak to any snakes lately? How _are_ our gardens?” His lips curled into a sneer.

“That’s quite enough, Justin.” Sprout scolded.

Harry’s fists curled at his side. “Once a muppet always a muppet, huh Justin? You’re lucky I let you in Dumbledore’s Army. Should have left you to your own devices.”

He thought they were OK after the Heir of Slytherin nonsense and the Triwizard cup. He and Ernie has both jointed Dumbledore’s Army. He even appeared to be impressed by his feats even if Harry himself had said they were consisted of luck and help from others.

This Justin glared at him hatefully as though they were back in second year and he had just yelled, 'What are you playing at?' after the Duel and he mistakenly thought he was siccing a snake on him in Parseltongue. 

“Potter? Mr. Potter.” He snapped back to attention.

“Yes, Professor?” He said purely by habit. 

A few snickered, breaking the silence of the room.

Sprout ignored it. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”

Harry shook his head. They didn’t believe him anyway. 

“I’ll go.” Pansy spoke up. _Any excuse to go on about herself._

Harry let the sound of her voice lull him into the confines of his own mind.

_“I’d do anything. Anything to make it stop.” Harry begged._

_“Anything?” A woman with long, thin yet scraggly hair jeered, her too wide blue eyes practically glistening with greed._

_“Yes.” He said in an exasperated tone._

_She pulled a rather ordinary looking blue bottle out of her shabby grey robes._

_“Take this, Harry Potter, and your life will change forever.”_

_He stared at it with trepidation and then reached for it. She pulled it back._

_"My payment?” She croaked out._

_He handed her a tiny tied brown bag. She slipped the potion in her robes as she pawed at the coins, counting every one of them._

_“Alright then.” She pocketed the coins and pulled out the bottle and handed it to him. “Take it in one gulp at midnight, not a moment sooner, or a nightmare you will behold.” She cackled as she swayed down Knockturn Alley._

_Harry kept his hood up as he stared after the woman, potion in hand. At that moment he realized something quite puzzling. How did she know my name through my disguise? He took care to conceal his identity in its entirety. He wrinkled his nose, contemplating showing Hermione it before using it. Yet, that would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it? Instead he Apparated home._

_After the war, he couldn’t bear to live at 12 Grimmauld Place so be rented a tiny flat in Central London. It was tiny and indiscreet. It was home. Yet the walls bore white and not a single personal item was present. He left anything of personal significance at 12 Grimmauld Place._

_The apartment had a white, leather couch, and a Muggle tele. A dark, wooden Apothecary table sat between them. He had a small kitchen off to the left, and a bed, bath, and toilet in the hall. It was nothing significant. Anyone could live there, which was precisely the point._

_He set the potion on the Apothecary table and then plopped down on the couch and stared at it with both suspicion and anticipation._

“Harry? Harry?” Neville’s voice cut through.

He shook his head and glanced up. He was in his room again. _How do I get so lost?_

“What? Group is over?” He asked, dazed.

“Yes. You went into a daze and were taken back to your room.” Neville said with a sympathetic glance.

Harry frowned and then stood quickly to his feet. “It was a potion!” He cried out. “I took a potion and somehow got stuck here. I wonder if I took the potion at the wrong time because she said I’d end up in a nightmare…” he rambled.

He stopped as he felt Neville’s gaze on him. 

“We are wizards. This is the fantasy. Not that!” Harry exclaimed excitedly.

“OK, Harry. I believe you.” He said unconvincingly.

Harry’s face fell and his shoulders drooped. “You have to believe me. I’m not bloody mental, I swear.”

“I know, Harry.” He said sadly.

“Well fuck you anyway. You weren’t special there just like you aren’t here.” He stormed out, taking to wandering about. 

He had to find a way out of there. He couldn’t stay here. There was no way. After a while he found his way to the library. He leafed through the titles trying to find a clue.

“Researching again, Potter?” Came the familiar drawl of Malfoy.

“How do you always find me?” Harry asked without turning around.

“You go to the same places after you relapse. You are at the point of the witch and the potion, right?”

Harry paused, and turned. “How did you know about that? I just recalled it."

“This time. Look. When you relapse into your delusions it’s like hitting the reset button. You think it is this puzzle but it’s not real. How many times have I had this conversation with you? I have lost count.”

Harry slumped against the bookcase. “You’re lying.” He said without gusto.

“No, I’m afraid I'm not, Potter.” Malfoy said solemnly.

“Why are you helping me? Especially since you seem to do it repeatedly.” Harry countered.

He shrugged. “What else is there to do?”

Harry eyed him suspiciously. “You always have a motive. Always. Spit it out, Malfoy or get out of my face.”

Malfoy sighed. “Fine. I need you to help me get out of here. I am not sick. I just want to go home.”

Harry took in his sallow face, thinning hair stuck to his scalp and skeletal frame. “You look sick to me.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “This place makes me sick. I need freedom. I’m going to actually go mad while here.” He sighed. “Look, I wouldn’t ask you if I had any other choice. You nearly escaped a few times. The first time you tried to break into the white transport van. You said it was a Hippogriff that was going to be put to death but you didn’t have much time because of something called a Time-turner. You bloody would have gotten away with it too but Ron caught you and turned you in. 

“Why would he do that?” Harry demanded.

“Because you thought the truck was some magical creature and would probably have killed yourself!” Malfoy countered. “At any rate, you are just the mad visionary I need.” He hesitated. “You could come with me. Can pretend whatever you want. Maybe it’d be better for you.”

Harry stared at him incredulously for a long moment. “Got a plan?” He asked finally.

“Perhaps. For now, though.” He briefly opened his mouth, revealing large pills. “Exploratory research.” 

“How will we find a plan if we take those?” Harry asked.

“Maybe it will come to us in a dream. Come along, Potter.” 

Harry followed him to the back of the library and let Malfoy take him far away.

_He was nearly past security and out the door. He could see it at the end of the maze of hallways. Cedric was standing feet from the doorway that seemed to gleam behind him._

_“Harry!” He heard Cedric shouting. “You alright? Did you get it?”_

_"Yes, I got it.” He said._

_“Come on!” Cedric yelled. “Hurry up!”_

_Harry ran to the doorway, fumbling with the keys he stole before he heard the click of locks._

_Orderly Filch wheezed around the corner. “There they are!” He waved his long finger at them menacingly._

_Doctor Snape came rushing at them quickly. “Go! Take the exit! Get out of here!” Harry told Cedric as he closed in on them._

_But Cedric didn’t move. He merely stood there, staring at Harry. Then he turned to the door with a longing expression. Cedric glanced back to Harry and took a deep breath._

_“You should go. You’ve got to go. That’s twice you’ve saved my neck.”_

_Harry grunted. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Come on! Both of us go, together!”_

_Harry grabbed hold of Cedric’s hand and pulled him outside. Unfortunately, so did Snape._

_“Run!” Harry yelled._

_Hand in hand they made their way across the street into the woods. They wandered until the sun went down. The cold whipped through them like frozen daggers._

_When they stopped to take a break, two hooded figures approached._

_“Come quietly. Nice and easy, now.” The soothing voice said._

_“No!” He shook Cedric awake. “You can’t take us back there! We won’t!”_

_"It will be OK. We can help you.” He continued._

_The one next to him scuffed. “Just tase then and get it over with.”_

_“No, don't! We can get them to come peacefully. Cedric can’t handle—”_

_It was too late. The voltage tore through Cedric before Harry had the chance to jump in front of them._

_Cedric convulsed and then went still, his eyes remained open. Harry flung himself at the body, sobbing._

_“No! You killed him! You killed him!”_

_He barely noticed the prick in the arm. It pales in comparison to the heaviness of his heart and a burning sensation in his head._

_When he woke in the hospital hours later; he knew that Voldemort was back again and had taken Cedric Diggory._

Harry jerked awake, tears freshly in his eyes. He gasped in surprise as he realized that Draco was staring at him intently.

“Dreaming about Cedric?” Draco asked flatly.

“How’d you know?” He sniffed.

“You kept saying his name. That wasn’t your fault, you know.”

“Yes, it was. If I hadn’t told him to grab the cup with me, he’d still be alive. If I weren’t so selfish…”

“You weren’t. You didn’t want him to be released without you. You wanted him to be your guardian and they wouldn’t allow it. Potter, no one blames you.” Malfoy was speaking unnaturally soft.

Harry frowned at the details. _What was he on about_? “Why are you being nice to me? I never said for sure I’d do it. I don’t want Voldemort to get you like he did Cedric.

Draco let out a derisive snort. “No. You make terrible plans. I am the brains of this operation so we will succeed.”

“Slytherins do excel at self-preservation. I was almost sorted into it, you know.” Harry stated.

Draco smiles wryly at this. “I know.”

_It wasn’t supposed to be this way. The end of the war was supposed to signify peace or at least change. It wasn’t. Harry and Ron’s training as Aurors had been rushed so that they could round up the Death Eaters that were left._

_Harry had trepidation about being an Auror from the start. Despite having wanted to pursue the career throughout his years at Hogwarts; the war had shed the skin of excitement and the losses deprived him of the desire to “save the world”._

_“Haven’t I done enough?” He’d complain to Ron._

_Ron would clasp his shoulder in a tight grip, “Everything will be alright, mate.” He reassured him._

_At first, Harry believed it because he was his best friend and wouldn’t steer him wrong. Yet, as time passed, he found himself increasingly disenchanted. The deception and corruption seeped through the Ministry like a poison. It infected everyone who came in contact with it. Eventually, it got to Ron._

_The once good-standing Wizard was acting on orders to torture those deemed menaces and deemed Death Eaters so that they would remain unquestioned._

_“We have to appease the public, Harry. Everyone is still frightened after the war.” They’d tell him._

_It was rubbish. He started drinking a lot first. Then he’d find himself in the back roads of Knockturn Alley begging for a potion that put him in a trance._

_He thought he’d get fired right away but they kept him on and only assigned him paper duty. He imagined that it would “make them look bad” if they dropped the Chosen One. It didn’t matter if he had lost all sense of anything and drank Firewhisky or took potions to keep the waking nightmares at bay._

_One day, a photo shoot was sprung on him and he was forced to leave his flat after just having taken a potion that supposedly caused delusions._

_He tried to act normal and smiled as eager witches and wizards gathered around him as though he was some sort of savior._

_Then he saw the Dark Lord lurking behind the crowd and pulled out his wand._

_"Avada Kedavra!” He yelled out with his wand out and pointing at the snake-like features of his face._

_A black crow fell to the ground, its blood splattering the streets. Green flashed across the petrified, screaming crowd that led to fear and hysteria among the masses._

_Harry was dismissed later that afternoon but peace never did follow._

Harry curled into a ball on his bed, weeping for the poor crow and the torment of a life he was unsure he lived. Everything was a contradiction in itself. _What is real? What is not?_ He couldn’t seem to find it. Not when he was awake, nor when he was asleep. Even on drugs he seemed to fall into a pit of horrible nightmares he couldn’t escape from. Perhaps it was this place. The white walls and torturous “support groups” seemed to make him worse rather than better.

He sat up. When did he end up back here? He was talking to Malfoy, right?

“Malfoy.” He whispered as he crawled out of his bed. 

Since it was after curfew, he had to act as though he had his invisibility cloak. He crept down the corridor, his heart pounding and his palms sweating. _If I touch Malfoy, I know he exists. That something exists._

He peeked into each room until he finally saw the blond lying in his bed. He opened the door and tip-toed inside. He must have heard him because he stirred, his eyes widened in alarm.

“What are you doing, Potter?” He whispered harshly.

“I need to know you are real.” He said meekly.

Malfoy sighed heavily and patted the bed with his thin, pale hand. His gaze momentarily landed on Theo, who remained oblivious. Harry moved forward and sat on the bed. He wrapped his arms around Draco and basked in the feel of him even if he feared he’d crush him at any given moment.

“You’re real.” He murmured.

“Of course, I am.” Draco retorted. “And don’t you ever forget it.” He whispered as he pulled in the other lad tightly as though Harry is just as much his anchor as Draco was his.

“We are getting the fuck out of here.” Harry promised.

"Yes. We are.” Draco said softly.


End file.
